


taxidermy

by vanillarouge



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Word Play, e. e. cummings references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillarouge/pseuds/vanillarouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he shakes his head, laughs against your neck. he says, “i like my body when it’s with your body.”<br/>and shows you exactly how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taxidermy

**Author's Note:**

> i checked out tumblr user jonathanegbert’s tag; ‘by way of loving a coolkid’.  
> it was a bad idea.

sometimes, you heart aches

;;

you don’t love yourself but he says he loves you enough for the both of you and,

maybe a thousand people more.

;;

he laughs at the way you sip on your tea cup; looks at you from the odd angle he’s sprawled at on his bed, his skin in the shadows, his eyes on your eyes.

the sound rumbles through his room and against the walls, quiet like old books, like morning light slipping through the curtains, warms you up like his sweater, but inside out, or maybe it’s the tea.

you think of analogies that only make half sense in your head, and wonder if you’ll forget them before he falls asleep and you can write them in your journal safely, away from his prying eyes.

;;

he tells you, “i carry your heart with me. i carry it in my heart.” and kisses you one afternoon, his arms wrapped up around you in the kitchen when you are sitting on the counter and looking out of the window, watching the city outside and the city is twelve stories down.

you tell him, “i am never without it,” and he kisses you with his eyes open, because you love him but you hate when he does this to you; makes you vulnerable and open and tremble with words when it’s his fingers which trace the contours of your body, when it’s his lips that are against your lips and breathing and so alive. you tell him, “anywhere i go, my dear, and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling.”

you know this game; you know how he needs to know you remember.  sometimes he will write little bits in the margins of your notebooks, slip post-it notes inside your books, paste them on your bathroom mirror.

he says, “i like my body when it’s with your body.” and pulls you close so you can wrap your legs around his waist.

you ask, “is it so quite new a thing?”

he tells you, “muscles better and nerves more.” and traces the corners of your lips with his tongue. “i like your body. i like what it does, like its hows.”

you whisper, “i like to feel the spine of your body, and it’s bones…” and forget what comes next.

he shakes his head, laughs against your neck. he says, “i like my body when it’s with your body.”

and shows you exactly how much.

;;

you trace his bones with your fingertips, colder than ice cubes melting in his coke yesterday, colder than the days he’s away, yesterday, one, two, three yesterdays ago.

you wear his sweaters and pretend that he’s inside you, helping you with the breathing thing you forget to do sometimes

(inhale)

maybe tracing your ribs and the contours of your hips, boney and sharp but he’ll still call you tender

and you’ll smile into your coffee cup and draw little hearts with your finger on the sugar you spilled onto the table.

(exale)

the thing about his dumb jokes is that they’re funny when he’s not there and people will think you’re crazy for letting small laughs out to wander on their own when you’re sitting in a coffee shop alone.

(inhale)

dave loves rain. dave hates the colour purple and watermelon. dave speaks a little french.

dave likes his coffee dark with two cubes of sugar.

dave snickers when he sees someone wearing socks with sandals and plaid with stripes.

dave hates love songs. hates sharing something that’s so yours and not anyone elses’.

(but he sings along them on the radio anyway, at night in his car with the windows rolled down)

dave aches with wanderlust when he’s here and homesickness when he’s away.

 (e-x-a-l-e)

dave has the most kissable lips and he bites his lips when you touch him under his jeans and his jeans are always washed out and he’s out to his brother but his brother is never at home yet he says he’s at home with you.

(keep calm and carry on)

;;

sometimes you think your heart aches.

when you wake up at night, breathing short breaths and helplessness, stretching your arms, searching blindly over the bed until you find his body and he sighs beside you right where you left him last night before you fell asleep

and you’re allowed to untie the knot in your throat.  aches.

aches when he helps you clean the ink stains.

when he stares blankly at the tv screen and you know he isn’t watching, aches.

when he is watching and he laughs at a dumb joke in some 90’s sitcom, at two in the morning when it’s raining and you can’t sleep and he sits you on his lap on your old couch and tries not to fall asleep, aches.

aches when he kisses you, like he’s tracing a pattern but harder when he’s careless. aches when he’s half asleep, curled in on himself and mumbling. aches when he shivers. aches when he’s sick, when he’s cold, when he looks at you. you heart aches all over, like maybe you forgot it in his pocket last night when you sneaked kisses and a little tongue during that french movie in the cinema and he forgot to tell you, and he’s keeping it in his pocket, stroking it to remind himself that it’s still there, that it’s his.

aches because you don’t want it back.

(when you tell him you love him, oh god, your heart aches.)

he says he loves you back, and sometimes,

you heart aches

;;

but before him, there was nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to e. e. cummings and his gorgeous poems which are the only bits of dialogue here.


End file.
